Monday seemed to drag. Charlie tried calling Don before class, but the call went straight to voice mail. "Hey, Don," he said after the beep, "it's me. I was wondering how everything was going. Have you met with the director yet? Are we still on for tomorrow? Okay. Call me when you get a chance." Charlie could not keep his mind on his lectures, resulting in several embarrassing moments when his underclassmen gleefully corrected their genius professor. When his classes mercifully ended, he took out his cell phone and checked his messages. Nothing from Don. No word yet on how the meeting with W. Jennings Stevenson had gone. No word yet on what the plan was for tomorrow's opening.

He dialed Don's number, and the call went straight to voice mail. Again.

Charlie was pacing in front of a blackboard, writing and erasing impatiently when Amita entered.

She came up behind him and put a gentle hand on his back. "Charlie," she said softly, "calm down."

Charlie whirled to face her. His surprised expression quickly changed to one of embarrassment. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah, it is. No word from Don yet?"

"Not yet." He sat on the edge of his desk. "I left him a couple of messages, asking if I could go along with them tomorrow. But his phone still goes straight to voice mail. He must be in meetings" He rubbed his face. "I made stupid mistakes in front of my classes..."

Amita grinned and nodded. "I heard all about it. I'm sure it's all over campus by now. Why are you so nervous? You've been working on cases with your brother for, what, three years now?"

"I know. I'm not really nervous. I'm excited. I mean, this case shouldn't be dangerous, and I'd like to be involved in it. You know, Don and his team get to do all the exciting stuff while we do this," he waved a hand at the blackboard.

Amita put her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze. "Well, I find this very exciting. I mean, you've taken math to a whole new level. You're creating applications that nobody else has ever thought of."

Charlie shrugged. "Of course, but just once I'd like to be in the field. Maybe even wearing a bullet proof vest. Maybe then..."

"What?"

"Maybe then Don's team wouldn't look at me like I was some freak of nature. Maybe I'd be one of them."

"Oh, Charlie, you are one of them."

Charlie sighed and shook his head. "You've seen how Liz reacts when I start talking. Colby used to be as bad, but he's finally gotten better. I even catch Don rolling his eyes sometimes. My own brother."

"Isn't that what brothers are for? I've seen you pick on him too."

Charlie smiled. "You're right, of course." He glanced at his watch.

"Stop that!" Amita playfully slapped his hand. "You're as bad as your brother." She led him to the blackboard. "So what are you working on?"

They were working on Charlie's calculations when Don knocked on the door frame. "Hey, guys. What's going on?"

"Not much, Bro. What's going on with you? Did you get my voice mail?"

"Yeah. Unlike some people, I actually check my messages on a regular basis."

Charlie pulled out his phone and glanced guiltily at the screen. "I check my messages."

"Right. Anyway, Stevenson is cooperating fully. We're going to have two agents in each room, undercover. David, Colby and I will be in the Da Vinci room." He paused as Charlie and Amita exchanged glances. "What?"

"I ... I was wondering if I could come along too," Charlie said.

Don hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. "Not a good idea, Buddy."

"Why?" Charlie said softly. "They're not violent criminals..."

"Charlie, remember they killed someone. And they tasered Ben. I can't risk having any civilians involved."

"You worried about liability?"

"That, and I don't want to have any distractions."

Charlie bristled. "So, I'm a distraction?"

Don put his arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Worrying about you would be a distraction."

Charlie pursed his lips and finally nodded. "Okay, I can accept that."

"Hey, why don't you come to the office and listen in. We'll all be miked. You can hear everything as it goes down."

"Okay," Charlie said, grinning, "That could work. It's almost like being there – without the risk of getting tasered."

"On second thought, it might be interesting to see you getting tasered." Don reached over and ruffled Charlie's hair. "I wonder if it would straighten out those curls."

Amita gasped. "Not the curls!"

--

The museum was scheduled to open at ten. At quarter of, a group of undercover FBI agents stood at the head of the line, holding their timed tickets for the Old Masters show. Downtown at the FBI office, Charlie and Amita sat at a console, listening to the agents' chatter. "You know," Charlie said, this would be so much better if they had cameras."

The technician sitting next to Charlie chuckled. "They've been working on it, but it's too expensive."

Charlie turned to the technician, a young Asian-American man. "You know, we've worked together – how many times now? -- and I don't know your name."

"Tom," he said, shaking hands with Charlie. "Tom Chang."

"Nice to meet you, Tom. Can Don hear us?"

"Not unless you push the button on the microphone in front of you. But don't be surprised if he doesn't answer you. He's not going to want to look suspicious, or crazy."

Don's voice crackled over the speakers. "All right. They're opening the doors. We were lucky to get tickets for the first showing, weren't we?"

"Yeah," Liz answered. "How long ago did you have to order them?"

"Months and months," Don sighed. "Okay, here we go."

They continued chatting as they walked through the lobby. Suddenly, Colby's voice came across. "Don? Look back."

"What?... What the heck?... "

Tom pushed the button and leaned toward the microphone. "What is it, Agent Eppes?"

"Wheelchairs. There's gotta be at least, what, thirty or forty people in line behind us pushing kids in wheelchairs. Get ahold of Stevenson and find out what the hell is going on."

--

"Agent Eppes," Tom said a few minutes later. "You're not going to believe this. Mr. Stevenson said that a benefactor, who wishes to remain anonymous, purchased a hundred tickets for kids in wheelchairs and their guests."

"Does Stevenson know who this donor is?" Don hissed.

"He wouldn't tell me."

"Is he in his office?"

"He said he'd come down to see you. He knows you're undercover, so he said he'd think of something."

A few minutes later, W. Jennings Stevenson approached Don. "Peter?" He said, "I understand you wanted to interview me for your newsletter. Is now a good time?"

"Jennings," Don said, grinning and shaking hands with the director, "I thought you'd forgotten about me. Now would be wonderful."

"Great. There's an office over here we can use," Stevenson led Don to a door and unlocked it. "Here we go."

Once they were inside, Don chuckled. "A janitor's closet?"

Stevenson shrugged. "It was nearby and empty. Now what's the problem with the wheelchairs?"

"It may not be a problem. It may just be a coincidence. But I've learned to be suspicious of coincidences. The two robberies were committed by people pushing children in wheelchairs."

"I'm aware of that, of course. But this donor is someone I know and trust."

"Who is the donor?"

"He wanted to remain anonymous..."

"I am not going to release the information. I just need to know his name as part of my investigation. Would you rather I close the museum down until I can get a warrant?"

"You wouldn't!" Stevenson looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.

"Try me," Don said softly.

Stevenson sighed dramatically. "His name is Francis Agincourt."

"Crap," Don groaned. Looking at Stevenson's confused expression, he said, "We have reason to believe Francis and/or his brother Fred are involved in this theft ring."

"What are you going to do? We can't turn the children away. That would be a public relations nightmare." Stevenson ran his hand through his hair.

"What kind of nightmare would it be if they got away with the DaVinci?"

"Don?" Charlie held the button and spoke into the microphone.

Don put his hand to his ear and signaled Stevenson to wait, "Yeah, Charlie?"

"I don't think you have to turn anybody away. You know which of the artworks they're most likely to go after. Just stick with your original plan. Watch the artworks. The visitors are irrelevant."

Don nodded and turned back to Stevenson. "Okay. We're going to stick with the original plan. Our experts have determined which artworks the thieves are most likely to go after, and we're going to concentrate on them. I just wish you'd told me about Francis Agincourt earlier."

"I'm sorry," Stevenson said. "Our relations with our donors are very important."

"I understand. Listen, I've got to get back to work. Is there anything else I should know?"

Stevenson drew himself to his full height and looked down his nose at Don. "Of course not, Agent." He opened the door, glanced to make sure they weren't being observed, and led the way back to the lobby.

When they reached the line, Don shook Stevenson's hand. "Thanks for the interview. Sorry we couldn't get together earlier."

"No problem. I'll look forward to seeing your article." Stevenson turned and left.

Don stifled a grin as he heard Charlie's voice in his ear, "What a pompous ass." Colby, standing in front of Don in the line, chuckled and tried to cover it with a cough.

Once they were in the galleries, the team wandered around until they reached their places. Don glanced around and said softly, "Everybody set?"

--

As Charlie listened to the agents' quiet conversations, he turned to Amita. "This is great. It's almost like being there."

Amita nodded. "But without the risk of getting tasered. Now we'll see how accurate your predictions are."

Charlie feigned indignation. "You dare to question me? Seriously, between Ben and Maggie's input and my calculations, I think we'll have the perpetrators by this afternoon."

"As a great man once said, 'Oh, to be young and brilliant and full of yourself.'"

Charlie smiled wistfully. "Larry. I wish he were back on earth. I miss him."

"He'll be back soon enough. I can't wait to hear about his experience."

"Me either." Charlie checked his watch.

Tom looked up from the console. "Professor, do you have any idea when they're going to make their move?"

"Not really. From what I understand of ticket sales, the show is sold out for the next few weeks, so, realistically, they might not hit today. Though we're all hoping it will be today. Don says this is a pretty expensive operation."

"Any idea what their distraction will be?"

"We may have already seen it. They might assume that the extra wheelchairs will distract the security guards. But they won't affect our plan."

Tom grinned. "Sounds like you have everything under control."

--

As the morning turned into afternoon, Charlie began to pace. "They may have assumed that we would be out in force today. They might not be planning to hit today after all."

"But the extra wheelchairs..." Amita said.

Charlie sat back down and spoke into the mike. "Don? Are there still a lot of wheelchairs there?"

"Yeah," Don whispered. "Why?"

"I was beginning to wonder if they were planning on hitting another day instead. But if the wheelchairs are there..."

"Excuse me," Don said loudly. "Miss, please step back from the art work."

--

Don's eyes hadn't left the DaVinci while Charlie was speaking. Now a young woman, pushing a girl in a wheelchair, had stepped forward and grabbed the frame, giving it a twist.

"FBI!" Don drew his weapon and trained it on the woman. "Drop the painting and step back."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. The girl in the wheelchair was turning to face him.

"Freeze!" he yelled. "Everybody just freeze."

David and Colby drew their weapons and stood, watching the rest of the crowd. A elderly lady screamed, and they both turned to face her.

Don took a step toward the young woman, who had not released the frame. "Let go of the painting," he said, staring into her eyes. "I will shoot."

She smiled.

The girl in the wheelchair lifted a gun and fired before Don could react. The first shot struck just below the vest he was wearing under his shirt. He cried out in pain, and shifted his aim, firing at the girl as the second shot struck his vest, pounding his ribs. Groaning, Don doubled over and dropped to the floor.

--

In the FBI office, Charlie grabbed the microphone. "Don! Don! Oh my God, what's happening? Don!"

Tom wrestled the microphone away from Charlie. "Granger, Sinclair. Report!"

Amita squeezed Charlie's hand as Colby's voice filled the room. "Don's down. Two gunshot wounds."

"Don," David was saying. "Don, Man, can you hear me? It's okay. Don't try to move. I got you. Let me see." Charlie clung to Amita as Don gasped. David continued, "Okay, gunshot wound to the lower abdomen. I'm applying pressure to stop the bleeding... It's okay, Don. Hang in there, Man... Okay, second shot hit the vest. Where are the paramedics? We need them here NOW!"